


I Am a Lit Fuse, You Are My Kerosene

by snapbackbuddies



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death In Dream, Dreams vs. Reality, Family Feels, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapbackbuddies/pseuds/snapbackbuddies
Summary: In dreams, fire burns his skin instead of chemicals. He and Miller dodge bursts of flame and let walls of fire lead them south. His skin crackles on the surface like he's molten underneath. The heat inside him burns the hems of his fatigues, boils the last of the water in his canteen. Miller gets worse at outrunning the flame as his muscles dissolve. His skin sizzles under Jacob's touch. Jacob kills him without a weapon.A story told in nightmares.
Relationships: Jacob Seed & John Seed & Joseph Seed, Staci Pratt/Jacob Seed
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	I Am a Lit Fuse, You Are My Kerosene

**Author's Note:**

> this......... spiraled out of control... i wrote one paragraph of this fic and i was like "man, this is a great idea that's not going to go anywhere" and then i kept writing and did not stop BUT i like this one! it's different from how i usually end up writing, the flow is very different. but i think i like how it turned out!! i hope you do too!!
> 
> ft. my NEW dep, deputy wesley beltran!! cos i ship my other dep with all the seeds i can't ship jacob/pratt while she's around lol. so he's here a little bit!!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for being unsure what's real and what's not at times. take care of yourself!!

Jacob dreams of fire a lot.

It doesn’t make sense. It never bothered him, he never got caught in the flames. He never even got close. He watched the barn burn up from twenty safe feet away, John in his arms, cheek smushed to Jacob's pimpled shoulder as he cried. John was only a kid. He was afraid and he didn't understand why the barn was burning. Jacob did and he pressed his lips to John’s hair to comfort him, but his eyes were hard and his jaw clenched while he watched the flames lick at the stars. The surrounding trees were illuminated like it was daytime. The flames reflected in the windows of the house he'd never once slept in. John didn't understand, but Jacob had perfect understanding: he would never see John again after this. This was calculated. Burn the barn down, get John and Joseph out of this foster family and into another one, where they would be safe. He would go to juvie and never see them again, but they would be safe. There was no point in covering his tracks, because he didn't want to draw it out. He wanted his brothers away from that fucking family. Joseph had clung to his hand. They hadn't spoken because they didn't need to. Joseph was fifteen and he knew why Jacob had done what he did, and he understood the consequences just as perfectly as Jacob. Even so, it wasn't the fire that made that moment so defining. He'd barely even felt the heat against his skin while they stood there, together for what they thought was the last time.

That plan backfired in every way. Put John through hell until there wasn't a scrap of the lovable kid Jacob had known left. Abandoned Joseph to the system and then to the streets. It failed even at keeping them from Jacob, from what he was willing to do to the people around him and the aftermath of it. There's still no reason for the fire to stick with him so much— to feel flames lick at his skin, to feel the heat of it, to be blinded by it.

No reason for it to blur with memories of his service.

Of the desert.

In dreams, fire burns his skin instead of chemicals. He and Miller dodge bursts of flame and let walls of fire lead them south. His skin crackles on the surface like he's molten underneath. The heat inside him burns the hems of his fatigues, boils the last of the water in his canteen. Miller gets worse at outrunning the flame as his muscles dissolve. His skin sizzles under Jacob's touch. Jacob kills him without a weapon.

Every night he wakes without a gasp and stares at his hands until they look normal.

Before Eden's Gate, there wasn't anything to do but sit awake and drink. The homeless shelter was warmer than the mild Georgia winter and had food and a cot to sleep on, so he couldn't complain. They didn't condone alcoholism but they also didn't have the resources to stop him from burning his little money on liquor. He can only imagine what a pathetic scene he must have made when Joseph and John had stepped reluctantly into the shelter to find him, drunk and unclean, his hair shaggy and long enough to cover his ears. Joseph, somehow, had recognized him as instantly as Jacob recognized Joseph. It'd only taken another second to recognize John, so long as he was at Joseph's side. He'd crushed Joseph and John into his chest and hadn't let them go for nearly an hour.

John had bulldozed their childhood home. Too similar to Jacob and the fire, but at least John hadn't done anything illegal. Jacob didn't want that for him, but he was also a rich, powerful lawyer, and when John told him he'd smiled. "Good," he'd said.

He'd never gone to an AA meeting or anything, but finding his brothers was a push in the right direction. Joseph helped him get sober. The drinking had helped him forget, at least, but now, with Eden's Gate, after he does his forgetting, he has responsibilities to fill the time. Judges to be trained, trials to run, shipments to oversee. Plenty of it can be done in the early hours of morning. The Faithful at the Center are used to him walking the hallways at any hour, calling on them if he needs them. Joseph does his best to send people his way who have sleeping habits similar to his. Reluctant to sleep and fast to wake.

When he wakes with Pratt it's different. He doesn't make a noise, he knows he doesn't, but he must flinch because Pratt is instantly awake too, gone tense. "Jacob?" he breathes. His voice doesn't shake anymore when he speaks, at least, Jacob trained that out of him.

"Back to sleep, Peaches," he grumbles as he rolls over and sits up. Jacob only spares a moment to glance at his shaky hands before standing. He strips out of his sweats and not his t-shirt, just pulls his jacket on over it. He gets dressed properly otherwise. He's lacing up his boots when he looks up and realizes Pratt is sitting up in bed, staring at him. His hair is greasy, lanky, hanging in his face. Jacob thought it was too long when he first saw him and it's only gotten longer. Gotten curlier, too. "I mean it. Down."

"You have nightmares, don't you?" Pratt asks.

Jacob can't starve obedience into him no matter how hard he tries.

He finishes tying his laces, sits up straight with his hands braced on his knees, and stares at Pratt until he fidgets. "I know you don't sleep well," Pratt says. "Even before you… moved me in here."

Jacob stands and brushes his fatigue off, turning to his desk to grab his things. "You wake up every time?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, go back to sleep. Forget it." He points his sheathed pocket knife at Pratt before he stuffs it into his pocket. "Nothing you need to worry about." He crosses the room to press a hand to Pratt's chest and pushes him down. Pratt glares at him the whole time, jaw clenched, eyes just barely wide enough to clue Jacob in that he's nervous. "Stay," he growls, and punctuates it with an extra push into the mattress once Pratt's all the way down.

Jacob's eyes flicker over Pratt, with his rumpled t-shirt and boxers, before drawing away. He steps out of his room without another word.

/

The next time he wakes up, Pratt pretends to be asleep. Jacob exhales through his nose against the back of his neck and watches goosebumps rise all the way down the side of his neck. Jacob hums, and Pratt must know he's caught, but he doesn't move. Jacob sits up, sets his hands on his knees, and curls his hands into fists to make sure his knuckles go white instead of red-hot.

It's for the best that Pratt pretends to be asleep, so Jacob stands, gets dressed, and leaves.

/

"Seed," Pratt says in his ear.

Jacob jerks awake and slams his palm to Pratt's throat, forces him down to the mattress with a gasp. They stare at each other, eyes flickering all over each other's faces, until Jacob realizes what happened. His lip curls up.

"I told you to forget it," Jacob growls, eyes flickering down to his hand, to Pratt's neck. Pratt's chest is heaving, probably a panic response— Jacob's not holding his throat all that hard. Jacob's own heart is pounding. It doesn't usually. Might be because he was woken up mid-dream. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

Besides his racing breath, Pratt looks relatively calm. Jacob can't scare him so easy anymore. "You…"

"What?" Jacob taunts, "Gone soft on me all of a sudden?"

Pratt's eyes blaze, squirming under him. "Get the fuck off me." Jacob squints at him and punctuates it with a squeeze before he backs off, plants his hands to the mattress and sits up. "You said Joseph's name."

Jacob whirls back on him and grabs a fistful of Pratt's hair, pins his head to the pillow. "Let it go," he snarls, and he half expects his hand on Pratt to light the two of them up like a match to gasoline.

"Gonna make me share your bed but not gonna let me say a word about it?" Pratt almost shouts, verging on too loud for whatever small hour of the morning it is. His hands are fisted in Jacob's shirt, not pulling him in or pushing him away. "You sounded— I wanted to—" He breaks off, eyes big and black in the darkness.

Jacob's mind reels. Pratt never expressed a problem with it before, though he definitely had some, so why now? Jacob's eyebrows drop, then suddenly lift. A grin splits his face open. "You really have gone soft," he says, fingers tightening in Pratt's hair, drawing his fist closer to his scalp. "Always been weak, but I thought I'd forced that softness outta you, Peaches." He leans down, gets his face closer to Pratt's until he makes a frightened noise in the back of his throat. "Is it just for me?" he purrs, bringing his other hand to hold the side of his neck, elbow digging into the mattress.

"Get away," Pratt says, his voice thin.

Jacob hums, draws his thumb down the delicate skin of Pratt's neck, stubble scratching at the pad of his thumb. "Sure you didn't wake me for any other reason?" Pratt stares at him, expression carefully blank, and swallows. Jacob smiles with wolf's teeth. "Have you got it through your head now?" Pratt's parted lips close as Jacob coasts his thumb over his Adam's apple. It bobs under his touch. "Mm. Gonna keep asking questions?"

"No, sir," Pratt lies.

"Good." He accepts the lie easily, unconcerned with it—he'll punish him for the next slip-up—and rolls off Pratt. Even though he knows Pratt's watching, he strips off all his clothes before getting dressed this time. Jacob doesn't turn around once before he leaves the room.

He never checked his hands, but Pratt's skin didn't fry under his touch.

/

For two weeks, Jacob wakes up from a nightmare and Pratt says nothing. Some nights Jacob even thinks Pratt manages to fall back asleep. He doesn't stick around to check. It doesn't matter.

Pratt gets cocky when the fucking Deputy escapes, though.

Jacob rubs his fingers over the tense, flat line of his mouth as he stares at the empty cage. "Bet you think you're fucking smart," he tells Pratt, standing somewhere behind him. Chosen had dragged him here, a shaking mess, and deposited him in a heap behind Jacob. He'd stayed there on the ground until Jacob ordered him to stand. "Watchin' the trucks. Looking through my desk, too, probably. You had my keys." Pratt shuffles behind him. "Thought I had you better trained than that, pup."

Pratt clears his throat. "When you leave in the morning. I'm awake."

"So you go through my things?" Jacob steps forward, hands folded behind his back, examining the cage like there's something fascinating inside. He sniffs, unclips his keys from his belt, twirls them absently on his finger. "You know better."

"I know I want to get out of this– this hellhole of a county. Beltran will… will get us out." Jacob smiles, exhales through his nose in what's almost a laugh.

"You think Depuy Beltran can save you?" he asks, amusement clear in his voice. "He's being trained to do my work for me." He quirks an eyebrow, catches the keys in his hand. "Good at it, too. Better than you." He turns to the side, looking to Pratt. "He's weak like you, though. He can't get you out. I can take care of you. With him, you'll bring on the Collapse. With me, you'll survive it."

Pratt hesitates, thinking over his next words. Jacob licks his lips and waits for the bite. "Are you strong, though?" He hedges, head tilted. Jacob smiles. "Those nightmares of yours are getting worse."

Jacob's expression falls flat. "Watch it, Peaches." He's dealt with them all his life. Sometimes they're worse. That's how it is.

"You have to catch your breath before you stand. Longer every time. You talk in your sleep more, too."

Jacob doesn't even think, lurching forward to snatch Pratt's collar in his spare hand, pressing his knuckles under Pratt's chin. It scares him to think of what Pratt has heard him mutter in his sleep. "You wanna keep talking about it?" He gives Pratt a solid shake. "Wanna keep disobeying me?" Jacob bares his teeth and pulls Pratt's face closer to his. "You know, I think I gotta take you back a step in your training. What do you think?"

Pratt says nothing. Jacob throws him to the ground.

"I think you oughta try sleeping in a cage again," he growls, pressing his boot into Pratt's chest and forcing a pained noise out of him. "I won't wake you up so much like that, will I?" He crouches down, kneels on Pratt's chest until every breath wheezes in and out of him. "Yeah. We can lighten up on the food, too, in case that's causing trouble. Making you feel special." He dangles the keys over Pratt's reddening face. "You know what will make you feel special?" He smirks. "You can take the Deputy's cage. How 'bout that."

Pratt exhales harshly, expression drawing tighter with panic. "Why don't you let me hear it," Jacob insists, grinding his knee in. "Why don't you say, 'Yes, Jacob.'"

Pratt chokes on his breath for a few moments, vein bulging in his forehead, until he finally chokes, nearly inaudible, "Yes, Jacob."

Jacob leans back from him. Pratt sucks in air raggedly. Jacob drops his palm to Pratt's chest to feel it heave, Pratt's eyes shut and his head tipped back while he does. "Now, wasn't that pretty," he rumbles. "Get up." He doesn't give Pratt the chance to obey, just hauls him upright. Pratt stumbles, so Jacob keeps a hand on the back of his uniform.

He twists the key in the lock of the cage, tugs the door open, and tosses him in. Pratt hasn't even risen to his hands and knees when Jacob slams the door shut and locks it.

He watches through the bars with a smile as Pratt struggles to stand, then ends up just falling back on his ass. Jacob raps his knuckles against the metal. "Why don't you stay here and think," Jacob offers, as if Pratt has a choice. "Nothin' to cloud your thoughts. No food, no people. And then, whenever I get bored watching you squirm," he says, "I'll run you through trials until you collapse."

Silence stretches between them as Pratt just stares, face twitching. "Good," Jacob says, and leaves him there.

/

"You gonna behave?"

"Yes, sir."

"Said that last time."

Pratt looks up at him from the ground with red, exhausted eyes. "I– I mean it this time," he rasps. Jacob crouches in front of him. He runs a hand appraisingly through his hair, considering him. He's not lying.

After a moment, he nods. "Good boy."

/

Jacob's hands shake while he stares at them.

Pratt had been right. The nightmares are getting worse. Jacob told Joseph as much the last time he saw him, which Joseph was sympathetic about, but mostly assured Jacob that this only meant the Collapse was drawing closer. Their destiny is imminent, Joseph promised. Jacob had smiled tightly and gripped Joseph's shoulder. He trusts Joseph, even if he isn't certain he talks to God, even if he isn't certain he sees the future. He trusts Joseph and his intuition.

Joseph was sincere. He meant well. Jacob's hands are still shaking.

Pratt is holding his breath. Jacob is measuring his inhale. "Jacob," Pratt whispers. He exhales. Pratt waits, but Jacob doesn't say anything, so he speaks again. "What is it?"

"You know what it is," Jacob says, after hesitating a moment longer so he doesn't sound so hopelessly breathless.

The bed shifts, creaks. Pratt rolls over to face him, he thinks. He doesn't even say anything, but Jacob's shoulders go a little looser. "I meant what are they about."

"The…" Jacob knows that Pratt knows about Miller and the desert. He'd known even before he'd heard Jacob tell the Deputy. "The military."

They're both silent and unmoving for several seconds. "But I hear you say your brothers' names."

Jacob is quiet for so long Pratt settles back into his bed, sheets rustling.

"We had bad parents," Jacob tells him. Pratt doesn't know about the barn. He doesn't know about the fire. He doesn't know that beneath the surface, something in Jacob boils or burns.

Pratt doesn't say anything. Jacob gets dressed.

He leaves him, but he takes the keys.

/

Jacob is covered in blood with flames licking up his wrists. John is small and crying in his arms despite the fire. Joseph's palm is getting branded with his handprint. Miller is dead at their feet and Jacob is pretty sure it's not the barn that's on fire in the distance but he doesn't know what it is. There's one point burning higher than any other, but it could just as easily be a wind vane as a cross at this distance.

Joseph's young voice says, "The Collapse is coming, Jake." Jacob doesn't look away from that high point of flame.

"I know," he says. He tucks his nose into John's hair to hide from the scent of smoke and burned flesh. He smells like expensive cologne.

The sleeves of Jacob's t-shirt catch fire and he wakes up with his face pressed into the pillow. It's hard to breathe so he lifts his head, sees Pratt staring at him, and pitches himself out of bed. He runs his hands over his face, flinches for a second, checks them, then exhales harshly and rubs at his pinched eyes.

"What if you tried to go back to sleep?" Pratt asks him.

"No." Jacob had tried that, years ago. It means another hour of shitty sleep and another rushed look at his hands. Better to just wake when he wakes and walk it off, get his day started, get it over with.

Pratt sighs, his breath even and slow. "It wouldn't be different with… with me here?"

Jacob turns to Pratt, eyes flickering over his shape under the blankets, up to his face. He seems genuine enough, if a little anxious. "Why would it be different?"

Pratt just looks at him and Jacob looks back. Finally, Pratt shrugs. "Sometimes it's easier."

Jacob takes a step back toward the bed. He reaches out to touch Pratt's face, his first two fingers tracing down his cheek. Pratt's eyes flutter closed. "Go back to sleep, Peaches," Jacob murmurs. He gets a small nod in response.

That should be the end of it. Jacob won't be coddled.

Except that the next three times he wakes in the middle of the night, Pratt touches his arm and mumbles, "Stay," while he's perched on the edge of the bed. "Jacob," he says, "just try."

Jacob shakes him off each time and tells him to get back to sleep. Pratt protests the first time, tries a little harder, asks "Why am I here if I can't do anything?" and Jacob pushes him back into the bed and growls for him to stop. He only asks once the next two nights, and curls up in bed to pretend to sleep after Jacob brushes him off.

Maybe that softens Jacob up. Gets him open to the idea. Makes him think about what it would really be like to catch his breath and lay back down next to Pratt. A hand on his arm, rubbing over his scars and making his skin feel less like smelted iron.

/

A week after Pratt first suggested coming back to bed, Jacob has a dream that the barn went up in flames with John and Joseph still inside.

It mostly consists of him on his knees in the mud outside. He's staring at his hands, palms-up on his knees, and they look normal while his brothers burn to death twenty feet away. He can't really hear anything over the roar of fire but he knows they're crying his name.

It's the first time in his life he wakes up panicking.

He's half out of the bed before he's even awake, thudding to his knees at the side of his bed. His breath comes ragged and desperate, on all fours and his hands still look normal and this time that's not cutting it and he can't breathe right because there's smoke in his lungs and ash in his throat. He chokes on it.

"Jacob, Jacob." Desperate, quick. It doesn't sound like Joseph or John but they said his name too. He wheezes. Two hands find his shoulders, a body folded on the floor, hovering in front of him. "Are you okay?" It's Pratt, he realizes belatedly, as he's shaken. "Jacob!"

He tries to speak but he's so lightheaded he can only nod and let the world spin. His palms feel hot against the cool floor. "Okay," Pratt says, coming in front of him. "Try to– to take deep breaths."

Jacob tries and fails to draw a proper breath a few times, but then it works. He's exhausted as he stumbles to his feet, Pratt in front of him with his hands braced out, like he's gonna catch him if he falls. Jacob smacks at his hands and staggers toward his desk.

"Jacob," Pratt says, exasperated. "Lay down."

Jacob plants both hands on his desk and leans forward, head between his shoulders. His hands look normal.

"Why do you do that?" Pratt's voice is hushed. Jacob's knuckles are bruised, healing from an… altercation with one of the trainees. He knows that but the flushed skin still scares him. He curls his fingers in, nails scratching too loud at the wood. It must’ve been a dream, because there's not any fire anymore and Pratt is here. Jacob doesn't dream of Pratt.

His deep breath shakes on the way in. He nods. "Okay. I'll lay down."

If Pratt is surprised he doesn't show it. He crawls back into bed and tosses the sheets open for Jacob to get in too. It takes a moment, but Jacob tears himself from his desk and lays down. For some reason it's kind of uncomfortable, even though Pratt's back is facing him just like always. Jacob exhales carefully.

Pratt doesn't touch him again. It doesn't take very long to fall asleep.

He wakes up two hours later. He doesn't remember the dream, if there was one. Pratt doesn't wake up, and he leaves without a sound.

/

Pratt has nightmares too. He must be better at hiding them than Jacob, which makes Jacob's skin itch, but he does have them. Jacob knows he does without ever seeing it, but one night Jacob wakes up silently from a dream (desert, fire, continuing south alone) to stare at the back of Pratt's head.

Pratt's twitching. Breathing a little funny. Jacob probably wouldn't notice if he hadn't slept so close to him for the past few months, but he has and he does.

Jacob hesitates, then reaches out to settle a hand on Pratt's shoulder. "Peaches." Pratt flinches and inhales sharply. Jacob would move his hand but he's not sure he's awake, so he insists, "Pratt," and Pratt jerks and flops onto his back.

"Jesus," he spits, head knocking to the side, glaring at Jacob with as much venom his bleary eyes can muster. He has perpetual bags under his eyes, no matter how much or how well he sleeps. "Jesus Christ. So you can wake me, but I can't wake you?"

"Behave," Jacob growls, his hand sliding up Pratt's arm to settle heavy on his collarbone.

Pratt looks back to the ceiling and catches his breath. "Fuck," he whispers.

"Bad dream," Jacob says. Forgets to make it a question. "Didn't…"

"Of course I have nightmares," Pratt snaps, then clamps his mouth shut and tosses himself on his side, back facing Jacob. There's sweat on the back of his sleep shirt, at the base of his neck and between his shoulder blades. Clinging to him. "They're not… like yours. They're…" he trails off. Jacob doesn't prompt him, but he wasn't waiting for that, because he continues without a response. "They're nonsense."

Jacob's fingertips buzz. He rubs them together to dispel the sensation. "Nothing concrete?" He shouldn't ask. He doesn't know why he's asking. He doesn't care what Pratt dreams about. He doesn't care that Pratt is trying discreetly to even out his breathing, that there's a fine tremor running down his spine, that he's clutching the sheet in both fists.

Pratt breathes. "Everything is bathed in red light," he whispers. "And I…"

He trails off and doesn't pick up his sentence. Jacob is staring resolutely at a curl at the back of Pratt's head that's sticking out funny. He doesn't have to continue because Jacob knows what he's dreaming about, knows that Pratt's nightmares are caused by his little wooden box and two words.

"Only you," Jacob breathes, and he wants to touch Pratt but he doesn't. Pratt goes rigid, curls up in ball, and puts as much distance between him and Jacob as he can on their twin mattress.

"I hate you," Pratt chokes.

/

"What are you doing here?" Jacob asks, his eyes jumping down from Pratt's face and black curls to his body and his heavy combat boots, standard issue, identical to Jacob's. His eyes trail up the line of Pratt's legs. They're dressed just the same, in uniform, though their jackets are off in the heat cast from the flame surrounding every side. Pratt's jacket is tossed over his forearm, held to his torso. Even upside down Jacob can read where the breast is embroidered M. MILLER.

His breath leaves him. "Where did you get that?"

"It's my jacket," Pratt rasps, pushing past Jacob to keep walking south, dodging smoldering pits of sand. "Going crazy on day four? We've got a ways to go if we're gonna make it out of here."

Jacob's heart races in his chest. There's acrid flame burning along the length off his throat. He swallows smoke.

He had to kill Miller to get to Joseph. Does he have to kill Pratt for him, too?

"Faster, Seed!" Pratt calls back without turning around. The smog is thick enough that Jacob is starting to lose sight of him. Jacob takes a step forward mindlessly. "I intend to get out of this alive."

Jacob starts after him, jogs to catch up. They need to stay together as long as possible. After that…

Jacob wakes on his back silently. He brings his right hand up to his face and keeps it hovering there until his eyes adjust. He curls it into a fist, spreads out his fingers, repeats again and again. Once he's convinced that everything is normal, and irrationality is settled in the back of his mind, he settles his hand on his chest.

He rubs his dog tags between his forefinger and thumb until it's a reasonable hour. When Pratt rolls onto his side, facing Jacob in his sleep, he realizes that he never even thought to check the bed for him. It settles an unknown part of him.

The thought disturbs him, so he gets up.

/

The barn is burning at the edge of the desert. Pratt has not replaced Miller this time. Jacob didn't know a nightmare could be such a relief.

/

"What are you doing here?" Jacob begs, tripping over sand as he rushes to John, clinging to the lapels of his fatigue jacket, eyes jumping frantically over his face and clothes. He's clean shaven. He looks so fucking _young_. Jacob knows that despite his efforts, John suffered as he grew up, had his spotless soul tortured cleaner, but he was never supposed to suffer like this. Jacob was supposed to keep him safe. Camo crumples in his grasp, but the J. SEED patch on his jacket doesn't. "You're not supposed to be here, John."

"John is right where you lead him," a smooth, diplomatic voice reassures him, and Jacob's eyes flinch closed so he doesn't have to watch Joseph step out from behind John. "We both are."

The desert swelters. If Jacob clenches his fists any tighter, his fingers will fuse together and singe John's jacket. "No," he mutters, head shaking desperately. "No."

Joseph's voice is closer. "I know," he soothes, running his hand up Jacob's bicep to grip his shoulder. "I know you didn't want this, but this is where you've lead us. You've done as you were supposed to, my brother."

He snaps his eyes open and clutches John's clean face in his hands. Thumbs pressing hard into his cheekbones, forcing John to look right at him, pinky and ring fingers digging into the tendons of his neck, at risk of burning him. "If anyone needs to die, it will be me first. Do you understand?" Jacob drags one hand to the base of John's skull and gives him a shake. "Me. I'm the sacrifice, not you." John's eyes are just as wide and illuminated by fire as they were when he was four. Still clutching John, he looks to Joseph and insists again, "I'll die before the two of you. Promise me."

"Oh, Jacob," Joseph murmurs.

Jacob wakes up repeating, "Promise me." Pratt is watching him, breathing slow and even, as Jacob clamps his mouth shut and swallows. Conscious of the eyes on him, he forces his hands not to shake while he looks down at them perfunctorily. He settles them on his stomach in fists.

He's never dreamed of John or Joseph in the desert with him before.

"That one was bad," Pratt comments. He tips his head to the side to meet Pratt's eye. He's laying on his side, facing Jacob. His hands are tucked under his head, cheek resting on his knuckles. There's no point in denying it, but Jacob doesn't confirm it, either. He almost wants to laugh, really. The nightmares have departed from nightmarish and arrived at hellish. "The ones with Joseph and John are always worse."

"I was supposed to protect them," Jacob explains.

"That's why you train the soldiers for the cu— for Eden's Gate?"

Jacob's mouth twitches. "I train the soldiers for a lot of reasons," he says. Pratt takes it with a straight face. None of the grimaces Jacob used to get in the first month.

Pratt looks away from him to study the sheets between them. Jacob rolls to face him and Pratt keeps counting threads.

"Go back to sleep," Jacob urges softly. Pratt looks at him again for just one second before he nods and closes his eyes. They stay facing each other until Pratt's eyelids stop fluttering and his breath goes slow and deep.

Jacob fixes the stray hair that's fallen over Pratt's face and gets out of bed.

/

Jacob jolts awake and gets promptly out of bed. He paces so he doesn't collapse, hands in front of him, palm-up and then palm-down. He'd thought his nightmares were getting back to normal— no more Pratt, no brothers in places they don't belong, just his subconscious throwing trauma at him in a confused mixture that leaves him thrown off balance. Not panicked, just off balance.

But his hands and legs are shaking. He can't stop walking or scrutinizing his hands.

He doesn't dream about the present. He doesn't. He dreams in the past.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Deputy Beltran was seen just yesterday at the FANG Center and Joseph is safe in Faith's region as of last night.

His hands looked normal again in the dream. He wasn't consumed with fire, he was normal. And Joseph still died. And now his hands look normal and he feels normal and Joseph could be—

It wasn't real.

"Jacob?"

Jacob snatches his jacket from the back of his desk chair and walks out of his room in his pajamas.

/

Pratt sits next to Jacob in the mess hall, chasing meat around his plate with a little chunk of bread. "Quit it," Jacob grumbles at him, reaching out to smack Pratt's hand. He yelps, but Jacob doesn't pay it any mind. He thought the deputy would've gotten used to rougher treatment, but he's still weak most of the time. He sees Pratt rub at his wrist in his peripheral and rolls his eyes. "Eat. You know damn well you're lucky to have the privilege."

"Yessir." Pratt manages to sound defiant even while he submits.

The stench of something burning has Jacob's eyes darting toward the kitchen, to his right, past Pratt. "Peaches, go—"

Jacob's stomach flips. His mouth is stuck open, eyes pinned to Pratt's wrist. His breath starts to come faster, chest constricting, because– because Pratt is rubbing embers out of his singed wrist and looking at Jacob and smelling like something burning.

His throat closes up. He opens his eyes and gasps at the ceiling and then keeps gasping. The body next to him shifts, rolls over. "Jacob?" And Jacob is lurching up onto one elbow, both of his hands scrambling for Pratt, clutching his shoulders, then stuttering as he darts his eyes over his hands. He recovers upon seeing them and yanks Pratt closer.

"This is your fucking fault," he snarls like an animal, wild eyes shooting over Pratt's shocked face. He shakes Pratt when he doesn't respond, lifting and pushing his shoulders back into the mattress, plants his knee into the bed between Pratt's knees so he's hovering on top of him. "You're the fucking reason I—" he cuts himself off, gasps raggedly, and orders, as severe as he can force it right now, "Give me your wrist."

Pratt stares at him. "Caught in your own fucking disaster," he breathes, but it's neither mocking or pitying.

Jacob's teeth are bared. "Show me," he spits, left hand dragging over Pratt's clothes to press at the base of his throat. "I don't dream about the present or about– about _you_ , so– so—" His voice is deep, scratching, desperate, and Jacob barely recognizes himself. This isn't him, this pathetic, vulnerable thing.

Pratt swallows and offers Jacob his wrist. Jacob thought he would be trembling but he's not. He still can't stop himself from gripping Pratt unfairly harsh, twisting his wrist to stare at soft skin on the inside of his arm. There's no burn. Just a faint mapping of veins beneath the surface. Jacob rubs his thumb roughly over the expanse of his wrist, then drops it. His hand at the dip in Pratt's throat slips down over his sternum instead.

He's straddling Pratt's leg, just above his knee, and Pratt is staring at him, chest rising and falling evenly, eyes sharp. Intelligent. Jacob doesn't particularly like just how perceptive he looks, so he holds eye contact without breaking, like he's answering to a challenge. Pratt's nearly as tall as he is, but under him he looks small.

After a moment, he hedges, "We haven't gone to breakfast yet this morning," without looking away.

"No," Pratt says. He sets one hand on Jacob's knee, in no way tentative, which is the only thing that keeps Jacob from smacking it off him. The ease in which he puts his palm to Jacob's knee. "No, we haven't."

They're both silent.

"I know what's real and what's not," Jacob says, after hesitation. "I'm not crazy."

Pratt stares up at him, eyes flickering all over his face. His hand slips from Jacob's knee. "I don't. I don't know what's real. Sometimes." Jacob stares back, his expression slipping to something blank. "When I'm dreaming, it feels real. And I know that… the training… I wouldn't be myself, and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it." Pratt finally looks away, head tipping to the side to stare at the wall. "I don't know if my thoughts are my own."

Jacob crawls off him and moves to the center of his room.

"I haven't put you through a trial in weeks."

"I dream about it." Jacob clenches his hand into a fist at his side. "Besides, I know my thoughts aren't always my own because I don't want to kill you anymore."

Jacob looks at Pratt over his shoulder, a smile creeping onto his face. He stares for a moment, then a small laugh bursts out of his chest. "It's that unlikely you could start to like me on your own?"

Pratt's head is tipped his way now, cheek on the pillow. His face is bland, unreactive, and he turns onto his other side without responding. Jacob shakes his head, his own smile dropping, and strips out of his shirt with his back to Pratt.

"I don't know," Pratt says quietly.

Jacob stills. Then finishes getting dressed. He has inventory to double check at the bunker.

/

Jacob wakes to the bed shaking.

Soft sobs.

Jacob blinks, trying to process what the fuck is making that noise, then rolls over on his side. Pratt's shuddering back is to him, expanding and contracting in time with each hitching breath. Jacob's brows furrow. He barely gets a moment to register that Pratt is crying before Pratt goes stock still— not even breathing. A moment's hesitation, then, "Sorry," choked out, breath gasping in after.

"Why are you crying?" Jacob asks, his voice clipped. His skin is crawling at hearing Pratt cry and he doesn't know why. It's never bothered him to hear anyone cry before except for his brothers, so he shouldn't have this stupid urge to coax Pratt back to sleep with soft words. He needs to keep his voice under control, lest he does something fucking stupid, like promise Pratt's okay. Or put his arm around him.

He knows he probably could put his arm around him. Knows that chances are, Pratt wouldn't shy away from it. They've touched each other comfortingly before.

It feels strange to want it. Wrong. He should be repelled by Pratt's weakness, bursting into sobs, but he's not. He's… he doesn't care.

"I had a bad dream," Pratt whimpers.

Obviously. "Tell me about it."

Pratt's breathing is slowly becoming more regular, forced that way by speaking. It still shudders, but he's not hiccuping and shaking the bed any longer. He doesn't turn to Jacob. "No one else survived the crash."

"The helicopter?"

"Yes." Pratt's voice is raw. "My fault."

Jacob folds to his weakness and reaches out to place a hand on Pratt's t-shirt, where it sticks to him between his shoulder blades. Pratt's muscles flinch like a horse dispelling flies, but the rest of him stays still. "And?"

Pratt's voice is thick. "And I was alone." Jacob clenches his jaw and closes his hand into a fist in Pratt's damp shirt. _Wasn't I there?_ Jacob wants to insist, _Wasn't I with you?_ "They still sent me to your region, but I… it wasn't like now. There wasn't any Deputy to tease, so I…"

"I killed you," Jacob guesses.

Pratt's silence is his answer.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Pratt doesn't answer again, but he doesn't flee from Jacob's hand on his back.

/

Jacob stays in bed after a dream about the barn. It was tame, considering his usual dreams as of late, but he stays in bed. He and Pratt are facing each other, having shifted in their sleep. Their faces are so close together, and it's dangerously easy to reach out for Pratt.

He's still sleeping. He'll never know that Jacob reaches out with careful, scarred fingers, and guides a stray curl from the blanket to lay with the rest of his hair.

/

"Jacob," Pratt begs on a whisper outside the Deputy's cage, clutching Jacob's forearm as he glares at Beltran's unconscious form. "Jacob, please. Don't do this."

"You're in no position to make demands," Jacob growls, shoving Pratt away from him with his elbow. He can't afford to be gentle with him out in the open like this, surrounded by Peggies, by Chosen, who keep a close eye on everything and report to Joseph.

Pratt stumbles and releases him but stays close, his voice lower than a whisper, body hunched toward Jacob. "I'm not," he pleads, "I'm– I'm begging you. Let—" His voice drops even lower, barely audible. "Let him go."

Jacob snatches Pratt's filthy Deputy's uniform in his fist. "Don't be pathetic," he hisses, towering over Pratt. "Beltran is a tool. He will do what I need him to do, and that's the end of it." Without thinking, he yanks Pratt closer, until Jacob can see the flecks of green in his eyes, until he can smell the sweat and soap and blood on his skin. "Beltran blew one of my beacons up, destroyed it beyond repair. I won't let him go just because you flashed your eyes at me, Peaches."

Pratt's eyes are round and his breath coming shallow and fast, puffing out of his nose to tickle Jacob's lips. Jacob's eyes flicker over his face, then he gives him a hard shove. "Get the fuck out of here."

When Beltran wakes up, he's just as obstinate as usual, too stubborn to listen to even a thing Jacob has to say, all sneers and taunts about how he's glad to have pissed Jacob off. Says it doesn't matter that Jacob is gonna starve him, deprive him of sleep, water, because he successfully fucked Jacob over. Jacob takes it with a small smile, lets Beltran tire himself out. Then he takes out the little wooden box, watches Beltran's face go still and terrified, and smiles wider.

He crouches before the bars of Beltran's cage. "See…" he shakes his head as he winds up the box. "Doesn't matter what you try. I'll always have you right in the palm of my hand, Deputy." Jacob opens the box. Beltran spits and curses until his eyes roll up and he collapses back to the floor of his cage.

And he thinks about Pratt's nightmares. The trials. About how the worst situation Pratt's brain can make up for him is one where he's alone and Jacob has no use for him.

He clicks the box shut.

Instead of sending the Deputy to kill Eli, he runs him through another trial preparing him for it. It's not necessary, Jacob knows that Beltran is ready—shoots without hesitation at puffs of smoke playing as Whitetail members—but he doesn't send him. Runs him through a pointless trial because he can't quite stomach the thought of killing off the few people out there who make Pratt feel less alone.

And he doesn't know _why_. He knows that Eli and probably Beltran can't be allowed to survive for much longer. They're too weak, they won't serve a purpose when the Collapse comes, and sooner or later they'll need to be culled. Pratt will have to learn to let them go, to embrace the Project, to move on and get Stronger. Jacob wants Pratt to be Strong.

He let the Deputy go, and for what? So Pratt can still be Weak for a little longer, so that he might hold on to those last, pointless shreds of hope he still has? So that Pratt can rest easier at night?

Jacob dreams that Deputy Beltran breaks into John's ranch and kills him. He dreams that Beltran crawls into bed behind John, places a hand on either side of his head in a caress, kisses the crown of his head, then snaps John's neck and kills him.

Because Jacob didn't do what he was supposed to. Didn't use him, didn't kill him. Instead, he let him go, chose Pratt's fucking comfort over his family's life, and now John– John could have– but he can't be, John can't really be—

Pratt is still sleep-soft and confused when Jacob yanks him up by the collar of his shirt to snarl at him. "You're weak," he spits, eyes sharp and desperate as he glares at Pratt. "You're making me weak. Fuck Joseph's plan, I should have killed Beltran yesterday," he pants, "I should have sent him to his death, to kill Eli."

"You didn't?" Pratt breathes, eyes wide with shock and hope.

"I should have killed you," Jacob snarls, sliding his hand to Pratt's throat, his thumb and forefinger nudged up against his jaw. "I should have forgotten Joe's plan and killed you, because now– now…"

They've both gone still and silent. Pratt isn't even shaking. He's never scared of Jacob anymore.

"I know," Pratt whispers, after long moments of nothing. "I know." He hesitates, then Jacob feels Pratt's hand settle feather-light on his elbow. When Jacob doesn't flinch, he curls his fingers around his arm and draws his hand down toward Jacob's wrist, nudged under his chin. "You've ruined me too. It's okay."

Jacob stares at Pratt. There are no words in his mouth, no breath in his lungs.

Pratt reaches up with his other hand and ghosts his middle finger under Jacob's eye, where he knows his dark circles are getting worse. "Go back to sleep," he urges, tugging on Jacob's wrist.

Jacob is so fucking exhausted that he listens. He tips onto his side, hand loose on Pratt's throat, and falls asleep facing him.

Pratt strokes his under eye while he fades.

/

A week and a half later, as a break from deserts and burning barns, he kills Pratt in his cage. He doesn't know why, he just knows that he has to, so he swallows his other thoughts, ignores Pratt's screams and cries, and slits his throat the knife strapped to his thigh, fingers red-hot to match the handle.

Jacob jolts awake, fumbling for Pratt at his side, checking that his hands aren’t alight in the dark while he sits up. "C'mere," he blurts when he sees that Pratt is awake, fingers fumbling over his throat to feel the skin warm and unbroken.

"I'm okay," Pratt stutters, shocked-wide eyes flickering over Jacob's face. "I– Everything is fine, Jacob."

"I know," Jacob wheezes. He settles his hand over Pratt's neck, feels his pulse thumbing against his his fingers, feels him swallow under his palm. “But I can't choose. I can't choose."

It's vague, he's being so vague, but there's no need for him to be any more specific. They both know exactly what he's talking about. Talking about how he needs to protect his family but he can't turn his back on Pratt. How he needs Pratt but he can't betray his family like that.

"I know," Pratt echoes, clinging to Jacob's shoulders with sharp nails.

Pratt clings, and he keeps clinging, and Jacob clings back, until they sink into each other and Pratt is wrapped up in his arms and he has his arms around Jacob. Until Jacob's hand slides from his throat to the back of his neck, steading, and Pratt's palms press into Jacob's shoulder blades.

Jacob presses his nose into Pratt's hair. Pratt buries his face in Jacob's neck.

They fall asleep like that. When Jacob wakes up from the next nightmare, Pratt is still sandwiched between his arms and his chest. They're both awake, but they stay wrapped together.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry about the abrupt ending lol, thanks for reading!! i love kudos and comments!! i love comments so much!!
> 
> find me on tumblr @stacispratt!!


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